


if we met at morning (in the dropship)

by thelittlefanpire



Series: tlf TROPED Fics [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Delinquent Vibes, Dropship Days, F/M, Orgasm Denial, Secret Relationship, Smut, Wake-Up Sex, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlefanpire/pseuds/thelittlefanpire
Summary: It was usually early in the morning, as the sun was just beginning to rise and the colors of the tent were still faded, when Clarke Griffin wanted to get off.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: tlf TROPED Fics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1337341
Comments: 9
Kudos: 118
Collections: Bellarke smut, TROPED: After The Kitchens Close





	if we met at morning (in the dropship)

**Author's Note:**

> writing smut proved to be incredibly difficult this week but it’s for CHOPPED and I had to push through! here’s my entry for Chopped Choice - Smut: A Bellarke Dropship Days AU (No Adults, No Grounders) 
> 
> Theme: Canonverse that turned into Plot? What Plot?  
> Tropes:  
> 1\. secret relationship  
> 2\. wake up sex  
> 3\. orgasm denial  
> 4\. wet dream/sex dream

It was usually early in the morning, as the sun was just beginning to rise and the colors of the tent were still faded, when Clarke Griffin wanted to get off. Beyond the purple haze of her eyelids, the first thing she notices is the deep longing in her belly and the intense warmth of being pressed up against another that draws her awake. She slowly stretches out her tired muscles from a week of traveling up the coast, but the pops and shifts bring her no relief. Her fingers trail down her side until Bellamy’s soft sigh blows past her ear. 

Her hand stills and her fingers twitch as she contemplates. 

_ You can do whatever the hell you want, Princess. As long as I wake up to you coming _ , she recalls his husky voice from the night before. They were both so horny, but too blissed out on jobi nuts to do much else to each other besides pull off their clothes and fall into the sheets. Clarke isn’t sure who fell asleep first, but she is the first to wake. 

She cranes her neck to look around the dropship, they’re on the second floor where the seats have been pried up and pushed against the walls leaving space for the pallet of scratchy blankets in the middle of the floor. They’re all alone up here, with the other delinquents down below or outside in their tents. It’s cool and quiet. She can hear the faint sounds of birds chirping in the trees and Bellamy’s soft snoring. The top roof, blown off on re-entry, is draped with a red tarp so that air can channel in. 

As Clarke lowers a thin blanket off her body, the breeze blows across her chest making her nipples pebble and she slowly rolls onto her side. The friction between her legs alerts her back to her early morning needs. 

In her new position, she can see Bellamy’s profile in the dim light. His curls have fallen over his forehead, almost touching his eyelashes, and his eyelids move and flutter like he’s dreaming. The cut on his cheek is healing from his fight with Wells, nothing more than a yellow smudge covering his freckles now. 

Clarke’s hand shoots up when her eyes land on the cut above his lip. She traces it ever so lightly with her fingertip and wonders how he got it. It mirrors the mole above her own lip, which she bites in concentration, and slides her hand down to his bare chest. It’s smooth and broad. She giggles at how some of his chest hairs have started to grow back no matter how many times he tries to shave them off with the sharp edge of scrap metal. She smooths down the soft bristles and keeps going. 

His dark golden skin is taut across his stomach and his abs are visible even in his relaxed state. Clarke pokes at the ticklish part of his hip where the deep v begins, but he doesn’t stir. She scoots closer to his abdomen. 

Her fingers walk the last few inches under the blanket and then she feels him. Every inch of him. Soft and delicate. She glances back up at his sleeping face before grabbing hold of him. Her center aches a little harder at the weight in her hand. 

She pumps him slowly, until his length grows, and then pulls the blanket down to his thighs so she has better access. Her hair falls over her shoulder and brushes his body. Bellamy’s breathing hitches and he lets out a quick breath, but Clarke doesn’t stop her descent to see if he’s awake. 

She licks her lips and then engulfs him. 

_ Not too much teeth. Let it ease down. Breathe.  _ Bellamy’s commands echo in her mind from where he had first taught her how to suck him off. Part of her wishes he was fully awake so he could guide her. He would show her the speed to bob her head up and down, remind her to let her throat relax so she doesn’t gag, and tell her to let her saliva roll down the parts she can’t reach. Her hands are too busy to help out with that at the moment, searching for the spot between her legs, trying to get some relief, yet the saliva still trickles down. 

She breaks off and whips her head around so she can see him. His eyes are closed but his mouth hangs open. He bucks and his dick hits her chin, reminding her to keep going. A few more twirls of her tongue and she can’t take it anymore. The new angle makes it impossible for her to touch herself, so she replaces her mouth with her hand and lays back.

She’s absolutely soaked and she’s barely touched herself. Bellamy Blake has that kind of effect on her. 

She starts to play along the folds of her sex, fingers tapping gently to set her nerves on end. The tune is easy to follow and her muscles tighten. If she keeps this up...

_ I want to wake up to you coming. _

...her morning exploration will end far too soon and there would have been no need to start anything with Bellamy at all, if she keeps it up. So she stops, denying herself of more relief. 

Suddenly, Clarke decides to sit up. She swings her leg over Bellamy’s hip and balances her weight off of him as best she can with her knees, stretching farther out then what is usually comfortable over his thick body. But it leaves her totally exposed and spread wide open. 

She lowers down and wets his dick with her dripping cunt. She can’t feel anything substantial with the movement so she sinks farther down. Her tits bounce, momentarily distracting her, and she has to bring her hands up to them, kneading the milky flesh, before pulling them out of her flimsy tank top. 

_ God, I love your tits.  _ Bellamy had whispered it repeatedly the first time they snuck off to the top of the dropship after the first Unity Day on the ground. She wants him to suck them now, but has to settle with her tongue flicking the top of her chest as she pushes her breasts upward. 

Bellamy moans and her eyes flicker to his, but his eyes are still closed. She grinds down on him, jiggles her breasts with her hands, and leans forward. The added pressure on her pelvis is delicious. 

She wants to come so bad, but he isn’t even inside of her. 

She needs him inside of her. 

Reaching between them is a slippery business, Bellamy’s dick smacks her thigh and she has to swivel her hips after him. Her hand holds him steady and she finally slips it in slowly. 

Riding Bellamy Blake’s dick is like a religious experience. 

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath. No matter how wet she gets, she’s never fully prepared for the full length and girth of him. He stretches her out and all she can do is purse her lips and wait. Waiting for her body to get caught up on it’s temporary occupant. And then her body is read to ignite. She grinds against him and lifts herself up. Back down. Around. She’s so close. 

But she can’t orgasm until he’s fully awake. Bellamy smirks in his sleep, like he can hear her thoughts. His hand goes up to her hip and his fingers dig in, signaling her to go on. He’s doing it on purpose. Teasing  _ her _ now. 

She picks up the pace. Their slick skin slaps together, a completely obscene sound that is sure to wake up the whole camp. But Clarke doesn’t care. Her hand finds her clit and she rubs furiously against it. The pressure builds deep and low in her belly. She can feel the tightening around Bellamy’s cock now. 

Clarke smiles, closes her eyes, and let’s her head fall back as she starts to climax. The morning sun blazes through the holes in the tarp and sweat soaks her body. Her heart is beating wildly and her breathing erratic, but she doesn’t care who might hear her in this moment. For in this moment, she feels so alive. As she comes, Bellamy’s brown eyes pop wide open. 

  
  


The harsh reality of morning light when she opens her eyes again, is a strange feeling. It’s like being doused with cold water. 

Until cold water literally falls on top of her head from someone hitting the tarp above where she’s been sleeping. The collection of dew soaks her flushed body. 

“Up and at ‘em, Princess. It’s your turn to run patrol on the south border,” Bellamy’s gruff voice says moving past her tent. She can practically hear the smirk in his voice and see the stupid way his freckles stretch across his cheeks. They had been on the ground for six months. No sign of life on the ground and no sign of the Ark from the sky. She hates the way her body still reacts, even in sleep, to him. Like he would even look her way. The Princess and the King of Chaos. It wasn’t ever going to happen. 

Her cheeks ignite into flames when she feels the stickiness between her legs and prays she wasn’t moaning in her sleep. 

It had all been a fucking wet dream about Bellamy Blake and all Clarke wanted now was to get herself off again. 


End file.
